


Then Pealed the Bells.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: Oliver Twist - All Media Types, Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Historical, Hope, Poverty, Theft, Winter, fefstivities, hardship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 16:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: It is the Winter of 1836, and Fagin and his  gang of thieves are frustrated with  living in poverty, but Christmas is going to change all of that. Fagin has a plan, Dodger is going to carry it  out and  the boys and Fagin  are going to live one night without hunger and starvation. It's only what they deserve.





	Then Pealed the Bells.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set a year before the publication of Oliver in 1837, so it probably takes place before Oliver arrives in London and meets Fagin, Dodger and the rest of the boys.

The Winter of 1836 brought naut but driving snow and chill wind that swept the streets of old London Town like the cold caresses of Death himself. Up and down the snow blanketed streets, lamps were extinguished as the ice froze solid everything it settled upon, killing the light and warmth of the flame and transfixing anyone unwary enough to be out of doors this chilly December. 

During the long cold nights of 1836, the poor suffered more than all and more than usual. They had not sufficient money to keep them from being killed by Mother Nature herself, and those who were privileged enough to own houses remained behind their somewhat insubstantial walls as much as they could. All feared to set foot outside their doors as the all-too brief Winter days arrived and dwindled, seemingly in the blink of an eye, to be replaced with those nights that could kill swiftly and silently.

Fagin had seen many a bitter Winter in his dark years upon God’s Earth. For too many nights to conceiveably count, he had crouched consealed behind the four walls of his commandeered home, huddling as close to his only source of warmth as he could and wishing that he had something better.

In times gone bye, Fagin would have struggled through England’s darkened Winters alone, but recent months had brought him a few steps closer to comfort. The cold still bit deep into Fagin’s soul and the nights were still far too long to bare alone, but Fagin was now no longer alone. He had been blessed with company, though some may have found said company more of a trial than a pleasure.

Fagin crouched beside the fire in his hidden den, surroundded by the company that had so lifted his spirits this year. Twenty young boys of varying ages sat around him, hands and eyes facing the merrily dancing fire as they too strove to keep theWinter chill at bay. They muttered quietly as they sat around those red and orange flames, no one sure of either the current day of the calinder or the time of the clock. Hunger gnawed at the insides of all and some shifted uncomfortably upon the floor as the night slipped her arms around them. 

“Keep calm, my dears,” Fagin told the room at large in as strong a voice as he could force from his chest, “the morning will soon be ere. Perhaps then, we shall be a little warmer, if only a bit.”

One of the young boys, the rowdiest one by far, spoke up with a strength that eclipsed that of his benefactor. “We will be fine, old Fagie. I’ll go out and find us some grub in the mornin. Perhaps we’ll be eatin like kings this time tomorra.”

A murmur of ascent rippled through the group sitting around the fire, though said ascent sounded a lot more like hope than genuine conviction. No one was at all certain of this young man’s victory in finding food for his fellows. A clever young man the Arthful Dodger was, but the streets of London could be very hard on a person’s strength if they remained out of doors too long.

Fagin stood and prowled across the room to his bed, ussuring his young charges over to their own beds. In muted tiredness, the boys went to their beds, lying down and submitting to sleep, however short that spell of sleep would be.

Hours passed before the people inside the hideout moved again. The city slowly came to life as cart horses trotted up and down roads and streets, driven ever onwards by their cruel masters, and small children took to the outdoors to scavenge whatever food they could find, which was not very much, even in the days of 1836.

But born upon the icey wind was a sound curiously unfamiliar to Fagin and the rest of the boys as they rose from the entrapment of sleep and prepared for another long day’s work. As the boys lined up behind the door, they found the time to pause and listen. It took a few seconds of halted time before they put an name to the sound they had just heard.

Singing, joyous singing. The chords of a melody drifted towards Fagin and the boys as they stood in motionless silence, listening with intentness of ear to the sounds. After another few moments, the words of the song developed an understandable meaning. The words formed part of a Christmas carol. The song was unmistakable. 

Fagin turned to open the bolted door and looked back at the boys standing in a row behind him. “We know what’s goin on now don’t we lads,” he said with a twisted smile creeping across his face.

Dodger, ever the outspoken young imparter of information piped up and said, “Christmas, Fagie. That’s what’s goin on.”

Fagin nodded. “Exactly, my boy.” He looked out of the tiny window that was emitting only a sliver of weak Winter sunlight into the room and decided that for them, the meagre offerings of this festive season would be no more. Fagin was growing tired of existing only on the barest morsils of whatever Dodger and the other boys could find. This Winter was becoming hard for everyone, but Fagin would be damned if he allowed the same suffering and hardship to happen to the young boys in his care.

Looking back at Dodger who was standing at the front of the long straggley queue, Fagin beckoned to him as he allowed the rest of the pick pockets to leave the den as quietly and inconspicuously as they could.

“I have a special job for you my boy,” Fagin informed the cleverest of his thieves once the rest of the boys had disappeared, “and it’s very important.”

Dodger nodded, face growing strangely series. It was a look most unlike the one he usually wore. “What’s that Fagie?” he asked in a curiously low voice as if he was afraid of someone else arriving to steal the golden opportunity of this important job away from him.

“I want us to have the best Christmas we’ve ever had, Dodger,” Fagin told him in a conspiritorial whisper, glancing out of the door as a street vender walked past, “and I think that you’re goin to have to use your special skills to get the stuff for us.”

Dodger’s eyes lit up with sudden self important inthusiasm.

“I want you to get as much food as you possibly can, my boy,” Dodger’s benefactor explained with infinite patience, “I don’t care if you need to make a few trips to get everything safely back here. I need a turkey, some potatoes, some carrots, some sossages, some oranges if you can get them and perhaps we could do with some cake. Have you got that lad?”

Dodger nodded silently, somber once again. This was an important and heavy weight to place upon his shoulders, but the artful one knew he was more than capable of undertaking it successfully.

“Get goin then, Dodger,” Fagin commanded, stepping back and beckoning for the young boy to part company with him. “Get everything back here as soon as you can. But don’t let any of them others know you’re doin this. I want it to be a right old surprise for em. Yes?”

Another nod. 

“Get goin then.”

Dodger disappeared into one of the back allies, scurrying away from the hideout and zigzagging through the streets as silently as he could. His heart was racing, pounding with the excitement of the job. He had never been asked to steal so much before in his life. Dodger was the best pick pocket in the gang and it normally fell to him to procure the majority of the food for their group. This would be complicated. But the complications and complexities of the job was what made it exciting.

The turkey and sossages were easy enough to get hold of. The man in charge of the meat stall in the market square seemed to have become distracted by the sight of two richly dressed women wandering through the bustling streets and undr cover of the man’s distraction, the ever artful Dodger slipped through the crowd, picked up the turkey, a bundle of sossages and another bundle of chicken legs from the stall and had it away on his toes almost before the people who had seen him could blink.

The bird and sossages were heavy and Dodger did not at all fancy his chances of making it through the streets without the pealers seeing him. He slowly made his way back to the hideout, slipping through the door and plonking the chicken, turkey and sossages down on the table. Fagin was nowhere to be found so Dodger lingered no further.

The vegitable stalls were more difficult. These were crowded with people who often kept their eyes pealed for young thieves. But no pair of eyes, wary or otherwise, were sharp enough to keep watch on the Dodger. Before anyone could have a chance to say anything, the young thief had slipped back into the crowd lugging a pound of potatoes, a few bunches of carrots and even some sprouts, though he wasn’t sure why. They looked to be the kinds of things richer people enjoyed at Christmas, so he supposed that sprouts would be something along the lines of what Mr Fagin wanted.

Taking the rest of the food back to the hideout, Dodger caught sight of Fagin approaching from the other direction. The old man was weighed down with a pile of firewood, but he smiled at Dodger as the two met on the steps.

“Did you get all of the stuff, my boy?” Fagin asked, giving the thief a quick look over.

Dodger shook his head. “need to get the cake and oranges yet, Fagin,” he replied, walking into the hideout and putting the veg on the table next to the suculant meats. “I’ll be off to pick them up then.”

Fagin was smiling with pride. “Good boy Dodger. I’ll start getting everythin ready. Got loads of this eer firewood so that we can keep it burnin for as long as we need it.” His voice dropped once more as he asked, “when do you think them others will be getting back eer?”

“Not for a few hours,” the young thief replied, already making for the door.

“That’s good. I’ll get on with the cookin then. Hurry back Dodge.”

“Will do, Fagie.” 

The sky had grown dark before Dodger returned to the den, weighed down with a Christmas cake and a few oranges stolen from an unwary shop keeper and another empty headed street vender. He almost ran up the steps and entered the hideout, senses suddenly assaulted by the smell of cooking meat and roasting vegitables. He smiled. He had never sniffed such delicious foods before. Such things were often completely denied people of his lowb birth. But they were about to break the rules of social class on this night.

The large wooden table situated in the middle of the hideout was layed out with as fine a spread as Fagin could pull together. True, it was not the sort of fare that the king himself would normally enjoy, but for them, it really did look like a feaste of kings. The cracked and chipped plates were piled high with food, a steaming lunch resting in front of every chair. There was more than enough food to go around then. Dodger grinned as he sauntered across the floor to where Fagin sat.

“The cake and oranges, Fagie,” the boy said with pride as he presented these food stuffs.

Fagin smiled, looking up as a pounding of running feet sounded from the other side of their door. “Good lad, Dodge,” he said brightly, moving towards the door and undoing all of the bolts, preparing to allow the rest of the thieves entrance, “go sit down and I’ll let them others in, alright?”

Dodger moved across to his seat and sat, staring hungrily at his plate. In normal situations, he would have consumed as much as he could before anyone else had the chance to snatch it away from him. But he didn’t have to today.

The thieves of Fagin’s gang filed in, every mouth falling open as each boy caught sight of the food that waited in front of his place at the table. In reverant silence, each boy made his way across to the table, taking his place and preparing to dig in.

ButFagin had something to say first. He stood in front of the boys sitting at the table, hand resting on the back of his own chair and staring down at his own plate of food. He looked at each boy in turn and said, “we’ve had some troubles this year, haveb’t we lads, but today, we’ve managed to get a feaste together. We will eat like the king himself tonight mi boys, I think we deserve to get as much out of those toffs as we can. Now dig in and enjoy yourselves. We will go to sleep full tonight.”

The room fell silent, the boys consuming their food with great gusto. Their eyes were wide as their mouths tasted things they had never had the luxury to taste before in their young lives. The process of polishing off every scrap of food was swift as the hungry boys finished off every morsel that rested upon their plates. Those who passed their hideout added their cheerful singing to the contentment inside their home and as the Christmas cake was brought forth, they tucked into that as well.

The Winter of 1836 would continue on in cold and biting turmoil. Those who had not the luxury of good food, safe and secure shelter and a strong connection to privilege would suffer long days of hunger and even longer nights of hardship, but on that night as Christmas merriment swept the streets of Old London town, Fagin and his charges were not amongst the suffering. As they lay down in their beds hours later, they fell asleep without the gnawing feeling of hunger stealing over them and consuming their souls. The efforts of Fagin and the artful Dodger had apparently not been in vein. Days after this night, they would again feel hunger, as did many others, but this night, Fagin and his boys could forget their troubles in favour of comfort and sleep.

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, God is not dead, nor doth he sleep, the wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on Earth, and good will to men.


End file.
